My TearsWhenever I cry,I stop and sit in the rain,On a rough gray bench,In the park,Because then my tears,Mingle with the falling drops,And the pain,Doesn't hurt as bad,It morphs into a bittersweet moment,Suspended above my head,Something I can't touch,Can't reach as much as I try,So my hair clings to my face,Dark and wet,My eyes the color of the gray sky,They cloud with more and more tears,Choking in my throat as the,Strangers pass,Faces I don't know or recognize,Only a blur through my pain,But my sobs are silent,So as not to disturb the drumming rain,My coat is heavy,Now as cold and heavy as my mood,Lower lip shivering,As another wave of insane craving,To let my pain out rolls by,Lifting my face to bathe in the,Icy mist,To cage my thoughts,So I can attempt to understand them,Because no one else seems to,So I sit,In the rain.

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